


E: Eradicate

by XX_CALIBRE



Series: Pykja Vænt Um [5]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XX_CALIBRE/pseuds/XX_CALIBRE
Summary: Dried blood. He is caked in dried blood.  “I believe you vermin call it—”
Relationships: Eivor/Vili, Sigurd Styrbjornson/Randvi
Series: Pykja Vænt Um [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024777
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	E: Eradicate

Vili notices something’s different. Ravensthorpe was missing _something_ : life. The moment he steps off Sigurd’s longship, he notices the happy faces, the hustle and bustle: gone. Like a fire extinguished from its flame. It was too dark, too quiet. Too empty.

“What is happening?” Sigurd dares ask, his crew following his footsteps.

Ravensthorpe’s Drengr does not answer, for he was too scared his thought is true. His heart pounds, heavy and loud. They keep silent, watching for movement. Gunnar’s home holds no flame. Yanli’s shop holds no chime.

“What _is_ this?” Sigurd dares ask, his heart is dragged on the ground.

So silent. So still—a flash of _gold and blue_.

“Vili!” Sigurd dares call out in silence, his eyes wide when said Drengr broke into a sprint.

The Drengr hears no more, rushing through the Settlement as the smell of iron blocks his nose. From the bushes sprung one, two—more than a _dozen_ Picts. _NO._ How—when?!

So loud. So stirring—a clang of metal and a slap of crimson.

His thought is true, Ravensthorpe was attacked for the second time but by an enemy Vili swore to rid. He should have finished the job before moving to Ravensthorpe. He should have stayed in Hemsthorpe. He should have _become Jarl_.

Vili’s battle cry is loud, and his eyes are flashing scarlet.

He has not seen Eivor Wolf-kissed.

“Where is Eivor?!” Sigurd dares cry, ploughing through the growing number of Picts. “Where is our Jarl?!”

A Man at Arms sneers, swinging a bloodied axe onto his shoulders. Dried blood. He is _caked_ in _dried blood_ . “I believe you vermin call it _Valhalla_.”

Vili’s battle cry is loud, and his eyes are flashing for _death_. There is _fury_ in Vili’s eyes and his movements became erratic—unpredictable. Every swing, every hit, he did not miss. He cracks skulls, breaks limbs, tears heads from necks _clean_.

So silent. So still—a rush into the longhouse, praying to Odin and Freyja.

They stop.

They breathe. 

He shakes in fear.

Bodies.

And there were too many to count.

“Randvi!” Sigurd dares cry, his weapon has dropped.

Vili’s eyes follow Sigurd. _No_.

Not her.

Anyone but her.

“Sigurd, we cannot do anything!” Bragi holds Sigurd back with every fibre he has. His arms, so tight around Sigurd’s frame. Bragi cries, wishing Sigurd could unsee what is seen. “She is gone!”

The man who was once Prince— _fractured_. “Not her!” _Please._

“ _Please_ _!_ Not her!” _Please stop—_

The shriek Birna breathes shatters titanium walls.

Vili’s eyes follow hers.

_Eivor’s room_.

Vili Hemmingson prays. He prays, and prays.

Vili Hemmingson hopes. He wishes, and wishes.

He—

“Oh, no. _Please_ — _NO_. NOT _YOU_. _ANYONE_ BUT YOU.”

There, on the wall.

There, above Eivor’s bed.

A man with beautiful turquoise eyes.

Crucified and soaked in vermillion.

  
  



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